


The General's Bastard

by Slytherin_vikiss



Series: Antony and Lysandra through time [3]
Category: A Courtesan of Rome (Visual Novel)
Genre: Conspiracy, Mentions of Pedophilia, Murder, Pedophilia, Revenge, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2019-11-23 09:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18150371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherin_vikiss/pseuds/Slytherin_vikiss
Summary: A mini series revolving around Marc Antony and Lysandra's daughter, Antonia.





	1. Chapter 1

**The General’s Bastard**

**First Part: Family Is Complicated**

  
  
  
  


Antonia was still young when she lost her parents. 

She has vivid memories of her, some of them happy, others sad, but as far as she can remember, the latters tended to be her father’s fault.

Now, her father she also remembers vividly, more so than she would like. And, just like with her mother, there were some good memories and others sad, but the latters were sad to her alone.

In all the short years she shared with her father, Antonia remembers seeing him sad once, and that was the day her mother died.

She had just gone to sleep after a night of reading and walking around their home in Athens when she heard a slave yelling, calling for help. Antonia sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Had something happened to Lucius perhaps?

It was then she heard a wail that froze her blood, and without her consent, her feet carried her to her parent’s sleeping chambers.

The memory of her dead mother, covered in blood, with her head thrown back and her eyes staring up and her father holding her against his chest was something that still haunted her dreams.

She was kicked out of the room, and after the shock wore off, she found herself moving, running outside her home and up the streets, not knowing she was headed towards Octavia until she was in her atrium, yelling incoherencies at her father’s wife while she tried to calm her down.

She wasn’t allowed to see her mother, but Octavia promised to take care of her herself.

She did, however, attended the funeral. It was a simple affair. They gathered at the beach, because her mother had fallen in love with the greeks shores, and they put her body, dressed in an elegant white dress, in a simple pyre. Antonia watched her father closely, but he seemed to be far off. He didn’t cry, he didn’t move. When Lucius started crying, probably missing her mother, he didn’t seem to hear him. When she took his hand, he didn’t return the grip. The only assurance Antonia had that her father was still alive was the slow, heavy raise and fall of his chest, and the occasional blinking.

She went back to Octavia’s home that night, along with her brother, and for years, the child didn’t see her father.

Octavia did her best to raise her and Lucius like her own. She gave them rooms just as big and impressive as her other children, she sat them at her table, she gave them good clothes and good tutors, but deep down, she must have known it wasn’t the same.

Antonia sometimes felt bad for making things so difficult for Octavia, but she couldn’t help it. She had her father’s quick temper, said the roman woman, and Antonia hated it.

She didn’t like being compared to the man who had her mother killed. It took her years to understand, but she did eventually.

Her mother had been nothing but devoted to him, and he had made her miserable on many accounts.

She always cried when he didn’t come home at night, and she thought Antonia didn’t know but she did.

Then he would show up the next day, or sometimes a week or two later, carrying with some extravagant jewelry for Lysandra, a disarming smile and some loving actions, and all was forgiven.

Antonia didn’t understand at the time. All she saw was her mother, whom she loved dearly, suffering.

Had her father ever cared about Lysandra at all?

Probably not. He only cared about himself.

And when he went away for some time, and then she heard the rumor that he had gotten a queen to give him a child, her mother had been all sad, furious and scared at once. Antonia was certain that was the one time in which Lysandra rose her voice against Antony when he came back.

She heard them yelling from her bed chamber, from which Diona, her mother’s favourite slave, didn’t allow her to come out.

The yelling got louder and louder, and a few things were broken, but then it all went silent.

Scared and curious, Antonia snuck out, tiptoeing around, keeping herself to the shadows as to not be seen, and looked around a corner.

She gasped, never before having seen such thing, despite growing up roman.

Her father was doing something to her mother. He had her against a wall, with her legs wrapped around him as he moved near her and then a bit away. It reminded her a bit of the dogs she had seen on the street, except that they were facing each other.

Antonia thought he might had been hurting her, with the sounds they were making and the rawness of the movements, but then her mother hugged him close, and she heard her father saying something; something about her mother always being his favourite, and Lysandra hugged him closer, kissing him in a way Antonia had seen plenty of times.

She had gone back to her rooms after that, and one year later Lucius was born, and nobody ever talked about a queen in their villa.

Her mother may have forgotten all about her, but Antonia hadn’t. She didn’t know this queen, but she despised her almost as much as she despised her father.

“Your father loves you.”would say Octavia, combing through her wild hair with a patience Lysandra had lacked. “He just misses your mother, and doesn’t know how to express it.”

“I miss her too.” she would growl out, and Octavia would stop for a moment.

“So do I.” she whispered, for even after some years, a wife being friends with her husband’s mistress was something unheard of.

Octavia tried her best to protect her and Lucius, to shelter them and make them unaware of the dangers Rome had to offer to the daughter of a celt courtesan and a traitor, but Antonia was her parent’s daughter, and she wasn’t stupid.

She knew Octavian, Caesar, Augustus or however the prick wanted to be called as, wanted her and her brother dead for no good reason. They were bastards. The bastards of a general and a woman who was to be chieftain of a Gallic tribe, yes, but bastards nonetheless. Romans didn’t give a crap about them.

Still, he wanted them dead, but Octavia didn’t allow it, and somehow she kept her brother at bay. 

Antonia grew up, and as she did, she began to wish the prick  _ would  _ try and kill her. Gods, how she wanted to see him try.

For better or for worse, she was Antony’s spawn.

* * *

 

Antonia’s birthday is a small affair in Octavia’s home, mostly because that’s what her tedious older brother demanded, and what Caesar wanted, Caesar got.

Her mother used to tell her that she had almost been born on the Ides of March, a day of which her father wasn’t so fond of.

The Ides of March was when Julius Caesar was murdered, and Antonia knew of this because her father often spoke of him, telling her about the coward men who had ended his life.

“I’ll hunt each of them down.” he used to say, until he did, and then his hatred shifted to Octavian.

Her mother used to insist on throwing grand parties on her birthday, and Antony never refused her.

Now, living once more in a Rome she had only heard of, the celebration of her birth was a small one. She was allowed to sleep all day, and then Octavia gathered all the children at the table and they dined Antonia’s favourite dishes.

She didn’t care for her birthday anymore though. It just meant that another year had gone to waste; and it was another year without her mother waking her up at a horrendously early hour to hug her.

As it was becoming tradition, Octavia sent the slaves away so she could help her prepare while Antonia sat in silence as the woman fixed her hair.

“Why do you care after us?” asks Antonia suddenly.

Octavia’s hands cease all movement for a moment, but resume almost immediately.

“What do you mean?”

“My father divorced you long ago; why do you look after me? And Lucius?”

Antonia  _ was  _ grateful, but she didn’t understand it. She and Lucius weren’t important. They had no right in the family, no promise of wealth or power came with them. They were only a burden in that house, two extra mouths to feed, two extra bodies to dress.

“Did you think I’d throw you to the streets?” asks an amused Octavia, taking a hairpin that Marcella Major had lended for the evening.

Antonia shugs.

“Anyone else would.”

“Oh, silly child.” she chastiates softly, pinning her hair up, placing the hairpin softly, trying not to make it painful. “I love you and your brother. I’d not let anything bad happen to you. Besides, your mother would have done the same for me.”

It was most likely true. Lysandra had been fond of Octavia. Antonia had the brief memory of her mother complaining to Diona about Antony’s other wife, Fulvia, and even though the girl didn’t remember meeting that woman, she did remember the moment Lysandra and Octavia became friends, faint as the memory was.

“I guess it’s true.”

Octavia places both hands on her shoulders.

“Do you wish she were here?” she asks softly.

Antonia feels the tears prickling in her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall.

She shakes her head, and behind her, Octavia hums.

“Did you know you were almost born…?”

“I know the story.” she interrupts her, standing up.

Octavia stands as well, reaching for something behind her.

“This arrived a few days ago, with instructions of giving it to you today.” she says, handling a small box.

Antonia eyes it warily.

“What’s that?”

“I believe it’s a present. From your father.”

“Throw it away.” she waves a hand, turning away.

Why must he ruin everything? The day wasn’t so bad until that very same moment.

He never bothered to write, he didn’t want to see her, and suddenly he sent a present?

Octavia sighs.

“You know, he cares for you.”

“Really? He could’ve fooled me.”

“And he cared for your mother as well. Loved her.”

“Right.” the sarcasm drips from her voice as she picks up a scroll. It was a poem she was working on, but the majority of the words were scratched violently.

“He did. He told me once.”

At that, Antonia, turns to Octavia, taking courage to make eye contact.

“I don’t believe you.” she whispers softly.

It couldn’t be. Her father had insulted her mother with that Egyptian trollop. It was his fault that she died.

“Well, he did, whether you like it or not.” says Octavia, nearing Antonia’s messy desk, full of parchment and spilled ink. She smiles faintly. “Your mother once told me about the day you were born, you know? She said it started the day Caesar was killed. she went into labor soon after Antony arrived, all covered in blood and agitated from the running. The day ended and another began, and you still refused to greet the world. Lysandra said your father stormed into the room, threatening to crucify everybody if her pain didn’t cease.”

Antonia didn’t say anything, didn’t move, and barely took in air, not wanting to disturb Octavia.

“He then sat by her side and held her. She says that you were born soon after, but that he didn’t let go until it was sure she’d recover.” Octavia looks up, the moonlight coming through the window giving her face a faint glow. “She liked to say that you only came into the world because he demanded it, that you adored him from the very beginning.”

She used to love her father, that was certain, but now that love was nothing more than a distant memory, one she couldn’t believe was real. It took her mother dying to see father for the monster he was. She had been blind until he turned his back on her and marched away, barely stopping to order Octavia to take the children to her villa.

She doesn’t love him anymore. She just hates him, and a small part of her, hopes Octavian will crush him. He deserves it.

“I hate him.” she says, loud enough for Octavia to hear. It scares her, how her voice carries through the room like the one of a giant. “I wish him dead.”

Octavia looks at her with pity.

“No, you don’t, dear. Please, don’t take too long to realize that.”

* * *

 

Hidden under her bed, Antonia has a box. It is made of wood, and has flowers and vines carved on the edges. The design is so elegant and detailed there are times she thinks the leafs are real.

The box she had stolen from her mother soon before she died. 

The child had found it with her mother’s jewelry boxes. When she asked, Lysandra said there were some old trinkets in there, but the box was locked with a key, and that got Antonia’s attention.

The box laid there, accumulating dust, always closed, and no sign of the key. Curiosity won, and one night, while her parents slept, she snuck into their room and took it. What surprised her the most was the fact that she had managed to do so without awakening her father, who was light of sleep.

It took her a few days to open, and once she did, she wasn’t sure what to think of the contents.

There was a pair of golden earrings with sapphires, but after that there was only parchment. It was full of it.

They were poems, and she read them all in one night. Two words in and she knew it wasn’t her father who wrote those. Most weren’t signed, but a few had the name  _ ‘Cassius’  _ written at the end, and since the handwriting was the same in all of them, she knew there was a single author to all those poems.

Being so little, she didn’t understand what this Cassius spoke of, but it seemed he had liked Lysandra quite a bit, with all that he had written.

Antonia wondered when was the last time her mother had read any of those poems, and how could she choose Antony over that man, who claimed in his verses, over and over, to be devoted to her?

How could she turn away from that?

She had left the box in her rooms, and when Antony sent her off to Octavia, the slaves packed it with the rest of her belongings. Now, she had the box underneath her bed, and still took it out from time to time.

As she got older, she began to understand what the man wrote about, and her mother became a bit of a mystery to her.

She’d never understand why she ended up with someone like Antony when that other man would’ve probably brought down the moon if it so pleased her. To her, it didn’t make sense; why choose tears over flower petals?

She has a faint idea of who that Cassius might have been, but doesn’t ask for a confirmation. Her mother had kept those poems a secret, hidden in plain sight, and no matter if she understood or not, if she agreed or not, Antonia wouldn’t spill out her secrets.

Was that why her father had chased Cassius to Greece? Why he had made peace with  _ Caesar _ ? Because he felt threatened?

The thought gives her pleasure. After all the times Lysandra must have felt threatened by other women, it was good to know there was at least one person who gave Antony a taste of his own medicine.

She reads the poems over and over, and wishes someone could love her so.

* * *

Antonia doesn’t want to go to a stupid party, but Octavia would hear none of it.

Lucius and Antonia Minor were lucky, and they were both comfortably back in the villa, playing around or having dinner, probably, while she and the others were stuck in that place.

Marcus Claudius, Antonia’s older son, had disappeared as soon as they set foot in the villa, and Marcella and Antonia Major were off in the garden with some other girls, talking about only the Gods knew what. Marcella minor was next to Octavia, clinging to her skirts. Much like Marcus, that sort of event made her anxious.

Antonia, however, simply didn’t feel like celebrating. She wasn’t even sure if there was a reason for such frivolities, especially while the plebs suffered the consequences of the conflict between her father and Caesar.

As she walked through the villa with no particular destination in mind, she saw Senator Lucius and quickly switched ways, not being in the mood to keep his wandering hands away.

She’s not even a woman yet! What could possibly attract him to her so much?

Antonia had the disgrace of meeting Senator Lucius in another party, just a year or two prior, and ever since she tried to avoid him. Lucius had been in that party, each taking one of Octavia’s hands. 

The man had seen them, and when he heard Octavia mention Lysandra’s name the man’s eyes had lit up, a nauseous gleam in them as he leaned closer, looking them up and down as he spoke of how he and their mother had been close friends.

Octavia had delicately pushed them both behind her, hiding them from his view as she made a quick excuse and left him, telling them to never be alone with him.

Marcus had said that Senator Lucius liked young people.

“And your mother was a courtesan, was she not?” he had shrugged, slicing his pear. “Maybe he was a patron and ended up a bit smitten. You do look a bit like her, or so I’ve heard people say.”

“Is it true Marc Antony and Cleopatra poisoned her?” 

Antonia stops dead in her tracks, her back to the sweet, feminine voice that had spoken.

“I heard the same! They say it was the only way to be rid of her.”

“I was told he found her fucking with ten of his men and killed her himself.”

“Don’t be mean!” she hears Marcella Major protest softly.

Antonia is furious. How she wants to jump on those girls and rip their eyes out with her bare hands! How dare they speak of her mother like that?!

“Who cares? One less whore to worry about. Your mother must’ve been  _ so  _ relieved.”

The next thing Antonia is aware of, is of a girl screaming underneath her, and Marcus and Octavia pulling her back.

She’s feeling so hot she’s surprised that the people restraining her have not gotten burned.

The other girl is pulled up gently by a tall boy with dark hair, and Antonia feels her face contorting, lips stretching back in a big smile upon seeing the bloody cuts on the other girl’s face.

“She attacked me! Jumped out of nowhere while we were talking!” the girl points at her, her other hand covering her face. “She’s a savage!”

Marcella and Antonia Major jump to their feet.

“You insulted her mother.” says Antonia Major, watching with an ugly wince at the bloodied dress of the other girl.

“So?! She was eavesdropping! And her mother was a whore anyway.”

Antonia tries to escape her prison, but Marcus and Octavia hold her tighter.

“That’s enough!” Octavia whispers in her ear, enraged.

The boy holding the other girl is watching her with curious eyes and doesn’t say anything. He just stares at her, and Antonia has half a mind of scratching his face as well.

They pull her out of the villa, and Marcella Major is left behind with a guard to make amends with their host. Marcus and Octavia don’t let go of her until they arrive back home, Marcella Minor walking ahead of them, looking back nervously from time to time.

When they arrive, Lucius and Antonia Minor are sleeping, and Antonia is released once they set foot in the atrium.

“What were you thinking?!” Octavia raises her voice at her for the first time, face red, running a hand through her light brown locks.

Antonia crosses her arms, a look of defiance on her face.

“She deserved it.” is the answer she spits out.

Marcus leads Marcella Minor and Antonia Major out of the room.

“You can’t do these things, Antonia! It’s dangerous.”Octavia stomps her foot to the ground.

The girl stands straighter.

“That shit-head insulted my mother! She’s lucky she’s still breathing!”

They both pause for a moment, equally surprised by the gravity of the words.

Marcella Major walks in slowly, looking between the two of them but saying nothing.

“I don’t think,”Octavia speaks slowly, softly, glued to her place. “you understand the danger you’re in.”

What danger was there for a bastard girl?

“I don’t think you understand how little I care.” she mirrors her.

“But  _ we  _ care.” says Marcella Major, taking a step forward to stand beside her mother.

Octavia raises an arm to her right.

“Go to your chamber.” she says, her tone stronger. “And I’ll be confiscating your books until you learn your lesson.”

Antonia huffs, but doesn’t protest as she storms away.

“She’s just like him.” she hears Octavia sigh.

That only fuels her anger.

* * *

 

The next day, a slave marches into her chambers to tell her she has a visitor.

Antonia doesn’t want to see anyone, but she has had time to calm down a little, and feels bad for giving Octavia such a hard time, so she follows the slave in silence, checking her nails for any remains of blood.

There’s a boy in the atrium, a few years older than her, and it only takes her a few seconds to realize he’s the boy that was staring at her the previous night.

He  _ is  _ tall, and stands in silence, watching his surroundings with innocent curiosity as he waits for her, some of his dark hair getting in the way of his eyes.

He smiles when he sees her, but Antonia narrows her eyes. It’s probably that odious girl’s brother, there to threaten her or something of the sort.

Octavia watches in silence, lounging in an elegant couch as the boy approaches Antonia and kisses her in greeting.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

She knows not who he is, and cares as much as she cares about a stranger dying in the Aventine.

Octavia gives her a look behind him, but he doesn’t seem bothered, and his eyes, of a strange green, only seemed intrigued by her.

“I don’t mean to disturb…”

“Too late.”

He chuckles at that, and she finds herself extremely annoyed by the sound. Why was he not pissed?

“I apologize.” he smiles. He’s hiding something, she can see it in his eyes. “After last night, I was left worried about you. I know this is most inappropriate, but I just had too see you and make sure you were alright.”

She tilts her head.

“Me?”

“Yes. Gaia insulted you the previous night.” he searches her eyes, but she doesn’t want to see his. “Are you alright? It was a rather nasty choice of words, I hear.”

“Oh, I’m fine. See? No more skin under my fingernails.” She shows him her hands and he chuckles again. “Now that you’ve seen that I’m in perfect conditions, why don’t you leave?”

“Antonia!”

But the boy just smiles gallantly and nods, placing his hands in front of him.

“Of course. I don’t wish to impose.” he bites his lip and hesitates for a moment. “May I visit you again?”

“Of course not.”

“Antonia!”

The boy’s smile falters, and he momentarily turns to Octavia so he can appease her.

“No, it’s fine, really.” he turns back to her and swallows. He seems disappointed. “A pity, really, but I understand. It’s already a wonder I was allowed to be so near you. Well, I shall take my leave. Good day, fair Antonia.”

He leaves in a hurry, and she watches his retreating back, thinking how strange he is.

“What did he mean?” she asks Octavia, approaching her  with measured steps.

“What?”

“He said it was a wonder to be near me. Why?”

Octavia takes a piece of cheese with a knife and takes places it on her mouth, examining the gleaming blade.

“He’s someone your parents wouldn’t approve of.”she shrugs.

“Who is he?”

Octavia finally looks at her, and Antonia’s not sure what to make of the expression on her face.

“Cassius, of the Longinus.”

Antonia takes in a deep breath.

_ The poet’s son. _

* * *

 

Some time passes by, and one day, Antonia receives a package from Egypt. The man carrying it is clearly Roman, and seems to be about to pass out from exhaustion.

He has a small box which he intends to deliver to her and her alone, but Antonia won’t accept it.

Octavia tries to take it, but the man says he’s got specific orders from Marc Antony. At this, which the girl already suspected, she is more hellbent on not accepting it.

“Take it back.”she tells him, crossing her arms in defiance.

The man swallows, looking at Octavia, who’s just as clueless as the rest of Rome.

“I’m afraid that should be impossible.”he takes a step forward and places the box on the floor, looking up at the girl and smiling. “Your scowl is like his.”

At this, she is offended, and has half a mind to have him whipped, but doesn’t move, doesn’t even look at the box on the floor.

Lucius, standing as a silent witness this whole time, takes his sister’s hand. Antonia holds him tight, not wanting him near the man nor the box.

The man looks at her and open his mouth, but then he seems to think better of it and leaves curtly.

Octavia is the first to kneel and take the present, but Antonia has already turned her back and is heading to her rooms to resume her reading, dragging Lucius along.

They stay there for the rest of the afternoon, but she finally relents when her brother complains about his hunger, emerging in time for dinner.

She keeps quiet, as she does most of the time, while Antonia Major entertains the Minor, who’s making a fuss about not liking the vegetables, and the Marcellas talk with their mother. Marcus is rubbing the sides of his head, all the noise making him uncomfortable.

Antonia feels bad for him. 

Marcella Major is looking at her expectantly, and Antonia blinkes.

“I’m sorry?”

She smiles indulgently, always as gentle as her mother, and opens her mouth to repeat when Octavian marches into the room, his pace rushed and his clothes filthy.

They all stand up, and Octavia rushes towards him.

“Brother! What state is this? What are you doing here?”

Octavian doesn’t answer, he doesn’t look at her. His cold, blue eyes are set on Antonia, calculating. His gaze flickers to Lucius, and his eyes shine dangerously. Almost imperceptibly, he smiles, looking back at her, not breaking eye contact.

“Marc Antony is dead.” he announces, and Antonia’s world comes crashing down.

It’s like her heart is exposed against a brick wall, being punched over and over. She doesn’t understand the nature of her feelings.

Her father? Dead? As in no longer in this world?

The first thing she thinks of is of Antony picking her up in his arms, throwing her in the air while Lysandra runs after them, yelling at him to stop. But Antonia didn’t want it to stop, she wanted to fly, and she trusted her father to catch her.

The next thing she thinks of is the last time she saw him. He exited a study, followed by a gloomy Octavia, and stopped mid-step when he saw her, little Lucius sitting on her lap, her arms awkwardly holding him still. His eyes had moistered, and she, having missed her father, got up as quickly as her brother allowed. She wanted to hug him and yell at him, to tell him that she missed him and that she hated how he had abandoned her; but Antony didn’t even allow her to come near. As soon as her feet touched the floor, he sprinted, saying he was too busy and that they shouldn’t be there. Antonia tried to go after him, but Octavia held her back.

“Why, father?!” she had yelled at him. ‘Don’t you love me?’ she almost asked, but was too terrified of the answer to voice it. Either a confirmation or a denial would be terrible, so perhaps it was better to not know.

Next, she thought of those nights when Jupiter bought storms on them, and how she would run to her parents, too scared to sleep alone. Her mother always welcomed her in their bed with open arms, but her father said that she needed to grow a thicker skin, that it was just a storm. Still, he didn’t complain as she ignored him and climbed up into the bed, crawling across him, burying her knee in his stomach in the process to get to the other side of the bed, where her mother would tuck her in against her chest. Antonia knew her father didn’t really mind her there, and this was always confirmed when, right after she had settled against Lysandra, his arms came around them both. He’d kiss her forehead, and then for Lysandra there were a few more. One on her forehead, another in her cheek, another on the tip of her nose and finally one on her lips. Antonia pretended to not notice, and she held his hand, finding peculiar how her parents always seemed fall asleep and woke up facing each other.

She remembered him going away, and how her mother cried herself to sleep when it happened.

And she remembered how he picked her up so she could take her pick of an apple tree, or how he found her playing with a stick once, pretending it was a sword, and a few days later he showed up with a small, real one made of wood. Lysandra hadn’t been amused, but didn’t refuse when Antony began to teach Antonia how to use it.

She is glad that he’s dead, but at the same time she isn’t. Now it’s all real; she’ll never see him again. Lucius won’t meet him, ever.

She’s become good at masking her feelings, and when she doesn’t show them Octavian seems to get bored, looking back at his sister, who now seems worried.

“What?”

“Suicide. The Egyptian queen also did the same.” he turns fully towards her, quickly eyeing the table full of children of all ages. “I know your hands are full, but they leave behind twins, and you’re the only one I trust to look after them.”

Octavia nods, of course, because she is too generous.

Antonia suppresses a huff. She doesn’t want those children living with them! Their mother is the reason of her own mother’s suffering. She doesn’t care they’re her siblings, just like the Antonias are her sisters, she doesn’t want them near her or Lucius. She doesn’t want them taking Octavia’s attention from them.

She hates them. She doesn’t know them but she hates them, just like she hates their wretched viper of a mother.

Octavian stays for dinner, but Octavia sends the children off to bed, probably not wanting them to stay and listen to their conversation. Only Marcus stays with them, because he’s a boy and he’s the eldest.

Antonia takes Lucius to bed and tucks him in, just like Lysandra did with her long before.

“Are you feeling well?” she asks him, making his curly hair aside.

He nods, looking pensive.

“What is it?” she then asks, tilting her head. “You can tell me, you know that.”

He waits for a few moments.

“Is our father really dead?”

She nods, clearing her throat.

“It appears so. Why? Are you sad?”

She won’t be mad if he is. There’s nothing Lucius could do to make her mad, not when he has his mother’s eyes.

He shakes his head.

“No. But I thought I’d be.”

“It’s alright.”

“But he was our father.” he insists, looking guilty.

Antonia shrugs.

“How can you miss someone you didn’t know?” she leans forward and kisses his forehead, raising from the bed and heading for the door. “I shall be reading if you need me.”

She exites the room, and right across the hallway is hers, already lit up. There are candles all around; the slaves know to have everything prepared for her long nights.

She closes the door behind her, softly, not wanting to alert her siblings, and stays there, hand holding the handle, lips trembling.

Her mother dead, and now her father, whom she wanted to hate.

She wanted to grow up to be a senator, and instead of explaining the truth, Antony had encouraged her, bringing her the best tutors and scrolls to study from.

He broke her heart when he abandoned them, and her last letter to him was full of spite.

She sees the box laying on top of her bed, and her shaking legs take her to it, where she kneels with little to none strength.

Hesitant, she reaches out, running her fingers through it and slowly opening it.

Inside, there’s a little piece of parchment, with her father’s bold handwriting in it. She takes it, her fingers ghosting over the words which she can’t yet put together.

She brings it to her nose, closing her eyes tight at the foreign yet familiar scent she associated with Antony.

She finally holds it away, reading the short message:

_ I gave this to your mother after your birth. _

That’s all it says, and she looks down to find a few pieces of jewelry. 

There are a few hair pins with encrusted rubies, a golden armlet with the shape of a snake, and it has emeralds all around it.

Looking quite odd and out of place is a necklace of pearls, too pure compared to the other pieces. It sits in the middle, neatly arranged. Antonia picks it up. She remembers this. Most of her mother’s jewels she doesn’t, for she had so many pieces it was hard to keep up, but that particular necklace she does. She always wore it when father was home, and when once Antonia asked why, mother had answered saying that it was because it made him smile.

She didn’t understand them; she probably never would.

She presses the necklace against her chest, the first few tears falling begrudgingly, but then the rest falling with eagerness, soaking her cheeks.

She can’t breathe, and hear heart beats to strongly against her chest. She punches the floor a few times but doesn’t feel any pain, not even when her knuckles crack and blood spurts out of them.

Someone knocks on her door.

“Are you alright?” It’s Marcella Minor.

“Fuck off!” she yells at her, not wanting company.

She sees the shadows of four pairs of feet at her door, and after some mumbling, she hears Marcella Major leading the others away.

She wants her father back, she realizes, the horror of the thought turning into anger against her own person.

After everything he had done to her mother: how could she miss him? How could she love him? How can she grieve so?

But she does, because despite it all, she loves him, and he loved her, she’s sure.

She hates herself for it, but accepts it with renewed intentions.

In the distance, she can hear Octavian’s sickly laughter as he talks to his sister.

Antonia puts on the necklace, holding the box with the other items and the note against her chest, curling in on herself on the cold, marble floor.

The hate increases, but this time it isn’t directed at Antony.

She wants him dead. Octavian.  _ Caesar.  _ She wants to be the one to extinguish the light of his eyes.

She closes hers, thinking of her parents sleeping peacefully, their bodies turned to face each other.

By the Gods, she was going to kill him.


	2. Chapter 2

**The General’s Bastard**

**Second Part: Love Is Mysterious**

  
  


Everybody was busy back at Octavia’s villa. Things needed to be prepared for the arrival of the twins.

Antonia huffed, ceasing her exercise for a moment to adjust her stance.

The twins this, the twins that. That wretched pair was all the conversation available at the villa.

Who cared about them? In Antonia’s eyes, those two were as much bastards as she was; the only difference probably was that Antony had loved Antonia’s mother, in his own twisted way.

She was glad that not all of the bastards he had with the whore of the Nile were coming. Although, she did wondered why that was.

Maybe Octavian planned on killing the rest? If so, why not just be rid of them all at once? That’s what _she’d_ do at least.

Even little Lucius had betrayed her! He felt curious about the twins, and kept on going and ground on about how he’d ask them about father.

“But I could tell you that.” she had said the previous night as they dined.

Lucius had shrugged.

“Yes, but maybe they know more.”

That had stung. She really had to make an effort to avoid eye contact that night; otherwise she might have broken down in tears.

It was odd for her and it made her quite uncomfortable, to mourn her father.

She used to think that the day Antony died would be the happiest for her, but it already was one of the most bitter of her life. She used to think she’d end up thanking Octavian, but now she wanted him dead.

She wanted him to suffer the same pain she had been feeling ever since her mother died; the pain that only increased when father died, and then multiply it on tenfold.

She wanted him to see her face as he left the world of the living.

And if those wretched twins could go down with him, that’d be great. All the better.

“You're holding it wrong”

The wooden sword hit the tree and went past it, throwing her off balance.

She spun around and rolled her eyes, finding Cassius standing there, hands held together at his front, lightly balancing on his feet. His black hair fell in front of his eyes, and his green eyes shone expectant.

Expectant of what? She wondered.

“Oh, it’s you. Isn’t it marvelous.”

She turned her back on him, resuming her stance.

“Your posture needs work as well.” he said, not unkindly.

“My posture is fine, thank you.”

“Who taught you to use that anyway? Everything is wrong.”

She turned quickly, the tip of her wooden gladius pressing into Cassius’ neck.

His face remained kind and open, but his eyes were suddenly weary.

“It’s just wood.” he said calmly.

Antonia pressed further.

“You truly are an imbecile if you think the material makes it harmless.”

He made a small sound at the back of his throat.

“Who taught you?”

She hesitated, then dropped the gladius and focused on the tree once more.

“My father did.”

“Hm.” Cassius nodded, looking down in consideration. “When was the last time you practiced? Supervised, that is.”

Antonia cleared her throat. 

“Seven, eight years.” she shrugged, as if it mattered not.

The reason she remembered was that her last lesson took place the afternoon before her mother died. Antony and her sparred under Lysandra’s disapproving gaze, baby Lucius napping against her chest, since there was no other way to shut him up.

“That makes sense, since there’s been no one there to correct you.”

“You truly are brilliant, aren’t you?” she mocked, standing still.

Now she didn’t want to practice. Not with him watching.

“I can help you.” he offered. She saw his shadow growing behind her, a sign that he was closer. “I know how to fight.”

Antonia snorted.

“Really?”

“Yes. My father taught me as well.”

“You do remember what my father did you yours, don’t you?”

She turned in time to see his face fall, and felt guilty.

Then she was perturbed by the feeling. Why did she feel bad? She didn’t care about him?

“Of course I do.”  he said after a moment taken to compose himself. “But he didn’t do it alone, did he?”

No, he didn’t. Antony, Lepidus put an end to their quarrel with Octavian in order to team up against Brutus and Cassius.

“He might as well have.” Antonia grumbled. Lepidus had remained behind to keep the peace, and her father and the prick sailed across the sea to Greece. “Octavian the weakling never set foot in the battlefield; at least not while it was dangerous.”

She realized what she had said a tad too late, but Cassius seemed to find her words amusing.

“Yes. I heard he was always sick when he was younger.”

 _“Yes. Perfect for poison.”_ she thought, trying to hide her true nature from the boy.

She eyed him up and down, and only just then noticed the bag that hung from his shoulders, so brimming of scrolls she was amazed by its resistance.

“What is that?” she asked, nodding briefly towards the bag.

Cassius looked down and patted the bag.

“This. A bit of everything. Sappho. Plato. Pindar.” he coughed, his cheeks pink. “Myself.”

“You write?” she rose an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Poetry, yes.”

Despite herself, she smiled.

“Me too.”

His eyes widened.

“You write. Truly?” when she nodded, he smiled as well and stepped forward. “Please! I must see your work someday.”

Antonia bit her lip and looked away, across the cliff and to the other side of the lake. She wondered...she wondered if he was as good and hopelessly romantic as his father.

“Maybe.”closing her eyes and cursing herself, she made a decision. “If you convince me you’re a good swordsman.”

She picked up the sword, and after a moment of stupor, he put his bag down and stepped around her.

“First, you must relax.” he instructed, helping her into the right position. “You’ll be less clumsy that way.”

Antonia couldn’t help but notice he smelled of old scrolls and warm wood, and his arms were strong though gentle, and held hers up nicely. He was being careful and maintaining a certain distance, and she was thankful, but also curious. How would he feel with his chest pressed against her back, and his chin on her shoulder.

She shook her head and focused on the weapon in her hand..

* * *

 

They practiced for a good half of the afternoon, and when she saw how the sun hung in the sky, decided that it was time to stop. The walk back into the city was long, and the one through the city itself to Octavia’s villa longer still.

She hid her gladius in a hollow tree under Cassius’ watchful eyes. She still didn’t understand that boy, but had the strong feeling that he wouldn’t rat her out. He was helping her train, after all. And he wanted to read her poems; how was he to do that if he got her in trouble?

“When can we meet again?” he asked once she stood up, after having put some leafs and sticks to cover the gladius. “For your next lesson, I mean.” he added quickly.

“I’m not sure. I’m very busy.”she lied and he nodded, his adorable face falling. He opened his mouth, but Antonia spoke first, mentally berating herself for what she was saying. “The day after tomorrow. Here, at midday. Don’t be late.”

She spun on her heels and began her way back, trying to appear calm.

_“Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.”_

* * *

 

When she returned to the villa, it became obvious that nobody had noticed her absence.

She had been gone for most of the day, but it seemed everyone was too busy preparing for the twins to notice.

Offended by this, she locked herself in her room. 

Once there, in the safety of her loneliness, she put on her mother’s pearl necklace and sat at her desk.

She tried to write, but everytime she did, no word would come to mind. It was most frustrating.

She blamed her father. She hadn’t gotten a word out since she learned of his death. Not on paper, not aloud. She didn’t say much anymore.

She had plenty of words in her head, alright, but couldn’t find the way to express them, and everytime she tried, she found there was an annoying lump in her throat and even on the few occasions she managed to get past it, the words escaped her head the moment she found her voice.

Perhaps it was for the better.

If she started writing, or worse even, talking, she wouldn’t be able to stop even if her mouth went dry and her throat sore. Or until she got killed for treason. Again, this was her father’s fault. This ordeal started with his selfish death; her mother was to blame as well, since the same happened when she died.

But now, with both of them parted from the world, she doubted she’d ever be able to write again.

Tears pricked in her eyes; she clutched the necklace.

A shaky sob escaped through her parted lips. Then another, and then a big gasp.

Her vision blurred as the tears fell.

She remembered her mother styling her hair in the Gaul way, and taking long naps with her father under the sun or shade, laying across his chest, safe in his gentle embrace.

The pain increased.

Antonia rested her head against the desk and wept.

* * *

 

Cassius was waiting for her near the lake, sitting under a tree and sketching.

“Is there something you’re not good at?” she asked, coming to a stop next to him. He was startled, his hand flying up and messing up the image, his green eyes wide. She smirked. “You’re not good at paying attention, I see.”

He made his art aside and stood up, dusting off his clothes.

“You’re on time.”

“And you’re early.” she said, putting a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yes, I…” he looked out into the blue waters and exhaled. “I don’t dwell very well in the city these days, with the triumph near and all.”

Antonia crossed her arms.

“Are you going?”

He nodded.

“Yes, unfortunately. And you?”

“No, I’ve been forbidden from attending.”

He hummed silently.

“Do you wish you could go?”

Antonia bit her lip. Did she want to go? On one hand, it’d be a celebration of Cleopatra’s death, but also of her father’s, and Octavian’s victory.

“It’s better this way.” was all she said.

“Well, it’ll be a dull event now that I know you won’t be there.” he said, giving her a soft look.

She rose her eyebrows and sucked in a breath.

“Yes, well, let’s start this.”

* * *

 

After the triumph, there was a small, modest celebration at Octavia’s villa; both in honor of her brother and to welcome the twins, neither of whom the girl had met yet.

Antonia wasn’t too keen on celebrating either, and held back a fit when Octavia said she had to attend.

“Besides, it’s in your own house. You can’t just lock yourself in your rooms all night.”

But that was exactly what she wanted to do, and instead ended up in a pink dress, wearing jewelry borrowed from Marcella Minor and smiling through a clenched jaw as the roman elite paraded about, giving her, Lucius and the Antonias pitiful looks but saying nothing.

The twins were there, looking fearful and in pain, but Antonia hadn’t spared her much attention. The only parts of their anatomy she stole a look at from time to time where the wrists and neck, where the chains left some nasty marks.

Her smile became less painful every time she did so.

“Antonia.”

The three of them looked up, but Octavia pointed at the oldest.

She let go of Lucius’ hand and approached stiffly, eyeing the group she was talking to. It was a relief Octavian himself wasn’t there. While the people still celebrated, he left to do some work,...or so it was claimed.

She stopped next to her guardian as she placed her hands on her dainty shoulders and put her in front of her, facing the three men and the woman.

“Antonia, these are…”

“I know.” she interrupted, as softly as she could.

First, she greeted the woman. She was rather tall and thin, and dressed in a modest manner that Antonia knew her mother wouldn’t have appreciated, but she still managed to look elegant. Her bright blonde hair was braided back into a bun, a style that was gaining popularity. Her dress was of the lightest green, and contrasted nicely with her pale skin. That was Livia, Octavian’s wife, and she was looking at Antonia’s face intently, as if looking for something. It would seem she found it, for she finally smiled sweetly, sadly almost.

“It is so nice to finally meet you, my dear.” Livia greeted, her voice warm like honey and soft as linen. “You are a beauty, truly your mother’s daughter.”

Antonia hid her surprise.

“You knew my mother.”

Livia rested importance to the matter with her hand.

“I saw her around the city a few times, but I knew who she was. She was everything Rome could talk about for some years, even after being snatched away by your father.”

One of the men couged, and Livia looked at him perplexed.

“Livia.” he warned.

For a brief moment, she looked like a snake about to jump, but then she was a flower again.

“Of course.” she nodded to him, and the man turned to Antonia, his demeanor serious, but the girl could see he was trying not to let a kinder mask pass to take place.

“Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa at your service.”

He was clearly much older than Antonia, and not as tall as Livia. He stood to the same height as Octavia, but was a bit bigger to the sides due to his training. He stood up like a soldier, waiting for command. He had blonde hair as well, but much darker than Livia’s, and his eyes were the colour of dung.

Antonia put on a smile, a forced one.

“A pleasure.” she turned to the other man. “And you must be Gaius Maecenas.”

“I believe that is my crime, yes.” he answered gallantly, subtly bowing, his black, messy curls bouncing about. He was taller than Livia, barely.

She smiled, pretending to be charmed by the lot, and tried not to fidget under Livia’s unperturbed stare.

“Antonia is a bright young girl.”Octavia complimented, trying to diffuse the tension before it escalated. “Poetry comes to her like air to her lungs.”

“Oh!” Livia tilted her head in her direction, her index tapping her glass repeatedly. The sound of the ring against the glass was driving the girl mad. “You must recite something fo us then.”

“Why not now?” Gaius was still smiling as he looked around, clearly ready to call on everybody's attention. “Something worthy of today’s victory.”

Antonia paled. Improvise? And in favour of Octavian nonetheless? No, she couldn’t do it. She would either get nothing, or get too much and be crucified. What was she supposed to say, anyways? Celebrate Cleopatra’s death? Sure. But celebrate her father’s? No, she couldn’t do it.

“Maybe some other day.” Agrippa interrupted, giving the girl a look that scared her; it told her he knew what she was thinking. “It has been a long day, and I’m sure everyone is tired, including the girl.”

Gaius seemed disappointed, and Livia accepted it with a nod of her head that was barely there.

Bergundringly, she acknowledged Agrippa’s assistance with a small gesture.

She wasn't sure which was worse: praise for the man who was responsible for her father’s death or being saved by the one who had bested Antony’s military brilliance. 

* * *

 

Life in Octavia’s home went on as if nothing ever happened. The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. The girls attended her lessons, and Marcus went outside to practice with his weapons, slowly incorporating Lucius into it.

They broke fast, lunch and dined together, and Antonia kept conversations with everyone but the twins. She didn’t even want to look at them in the eye, and if anybody else noticed (which they probably did), they didn’t say anything.  She had yet to speak to them, as did Lucius, who despite his earlier claim about wanting to know about Antony, prefered to please his sister by not fraternizing with the “enemy.” Antonia went out and in, and walked around the place with her nose buried in her scrolls, her fingers gripping tightly when one of the bastards walked past her, but other than the sideways glare she would give when one of them greeted her at first light, she didn’t acknowledge their existence, and Octavia didn’t force her to either.

She probably thought the silence treatment was better than the violence she was more inclined to in most occasions.

Antonia kept on sneaking out to meet Cassius by the lake outside the city. He was already there at midday when she arrived, and his patience and perfect manners, and the way his eyes lit up when she did something right or addressed him nicely were driving her insane. She was not thrilled with the way her heart beat so fast it seemed it’d burst out of her when he was close, or with how her stomach filled with butterflies when he smiled at her or when he laughed. And she would never, never admit to admiring his mind. He read to her sometimes, both works of others and his own, and he’d immediately go straight into an analysis of the piece. She listened in silence, ignoring the chilly winds as he went on and on, his green orbs shining as he spoke. He often asked for her own opinion on the poem, but she always shrugged it off and looked the other way, saying that ‘It was pretty’, when in reality, a world of thoughts swam through her head.

“Keep your shield up!” he instructed, attacking with his own wooden gladius.

“I don’t have a shield.”

“Pretend!”

She rolled her eyes and rose an arm, walking backwards as she deflected his blows. The day was grey, and the snow was melting into ugly patches of mud underneath their feet. She had a strand of hair in front of her eyes that had been bothering her for some minutes now, and after a while, she couldn’t help but move a hand to her face in order to clear her view.

Cassius’ sword hit her side and the blow sent her to the mud.

“Ow!” she complained, letting go of the sword and using her hand to land. It hurt, the sting up pain shooting up her arm, but it wasn’t broken, otherwise she would know, and so would Cassius.

She glared at his wide-eyed expression, and tried to crawl away as he knelt before her.

“I am so sorry!” he kept on saying, along with a few “Are you alright? Here, let me help you.”

She tried to send him away and stand up on her own, but moving her hand still hurt, and she didn’t want to cry in front of him.

“Go away! I can handle it.”

“I can’t in good conscience leave you alone.”

She shoot him a hot glare.

“Why not?! I want you to!”

He rolled his eyes and placed a hand around the arm she had used to soften the landing.

“C’mon, slowly.”

He moved her arm and helped her sit in a better position on the mud, neither caring about the dirt. With the same deliberate speed, he flexed her arm and lifter a finger.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

He gave her a look from underneath his long eyelashes, and Antonia felt her breath being caught in her throat, her heart being an idiot again.

The fingers around her wrist were soft, and his thumb was drawing circles on her skin as his other hand reached up and made her hair aside, placing it behind her small ear. He didn’t drop his hand, and instead it travelled back, caressing her cheek with tenderness.

His eyes were too warm, and she had too look away.

No! She had seen that type of look before, and it only meant pain. She had seen her father looking at her mother like that many times, and the last thing she wanted was to end up like them.

“Antonia.” he called her softly, and she hated herself when she obeyed, looking right back at him once more.

His fingers moved over her soft lips, and then held her chin in a ghost like hold. 

Cassius leaned up slowly, and when she didn’t attempt to escape or smack him, he closed the distance, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to hers.

She catched her breath, never before having had lips over her own.

He moved back for a torturous moment, and then kissed her again, just a tad more insistent this time.

Antonia’s eyes fluttered close, and she returned the gesture; or at least, she thought she was. She had seen people kissing before, plenty of times and in plenty of places. For Venus’ sake; her father’s lips had always seemed to be locked on some part of her mother’s anatomy when he wasn’t drinking of getting on the nerve of other people. But nothing prepared her for the experience.

Cassius’ lips were surprisingly soft and warm, and despite the little knowledge she had of them, she felt the most comfortable she had felt in years.

His hands landed on her waist and he pulled her closer, his chest softly brushing hers. Antonia’s own hands travelled up his strong arms, around his shoulders, up his neck and tangled in his dark curls.

She felt his tongue brushing her lips, and she parted hers, unsure of how to proceed but eager to do so.

His tongue danced around her, and she prayed to all the Gods that she was doing it right.

She must’ve, for he pulled her even closer and leaned her back in his arms, so that she was half laying across his lap, her side against his chest.

She kissed him with growing confidence, the cold completely forgotten, as was the mud and the pain of her fall.

With one of his arms around her waist, the other placed itself on her cheek, and he finally broke the kiss (Much to her disappointment) and pressed his forehead to hers, his thumb running over her soft cheekbone.

Her unsteady breath hit him like a feather, moving some curls around.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you.” he whispered, like it was some sort of dangerous secret.

Antonia got up, pushing him away and coming back to her senses. It was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice-cold water on her.

She got up, and ignoring his perplex, hurt face, picked up her cloak from the ground and hastily put it around her.

“Antonia…”

“Leave me alone.”

* * *

 

When she arrived back at the villa, she found Octavia entertaining Livia, whose eyes settled on her immediately, impassive as her lips moved back into a smile.

"Antonia, it is so nice to see you."the woman smiled, rising to her feet with ease.

"You're back!"Octavia smiled, her being broader than that of her sister in law, standing up to walk towards the girl. She was eyed from head to toe. "Where have you been?"

"Outside."

"The villa?"

"The city."

Octavia put her hands on her hips, her look apprehensive, while Livia merely rose an eyebrow, not scandalized at all.

"Why were you there? You know that's dangerous."

Antonia shrugged.

‘I didn't know you cared.' She wanted to say, but instead kept her mouth shut, looking at Livia instead.  She had never seen that woman in her guardian's villa before, and now she was there for a second time.

Livia didn't seem fazed by the girls narrowed eyes, and instead she stood up, approaching slowly. Antonia didn't like her, or at least she thought so. 

"I was with a man." She said, eyes stuck on the tall woman, whose mask remained in place as she came to stand by a shocked Octavia.

"A man? What man?"

"He kissed me."

Octavia gasped, but Livia seemed amused, if her eyes were anything to go by.

"Antonia! You must be careful! What if he tried to dishonor you? What if word got out that you're a loose woman? Who would marry you then?"

The girl arched an eyebrow, taking the other two by surprise, accentuating her likeness to her mother.

"Marry? Who would marry the bastard of a traitor?"

Octavia gave her sister a nervous look.

"Please forgive her. She's just a child."

Livia didn't even look at Octavia.

"And she's grieving. That is no crime."

"I doubt your husband would agree."

Livia smirked.

"You're right, but I didn't come all this way to speak of him, I came for you."

Antonia sighed.

"I haven't done anything illegal."

Octavia chuckled, but she didn't fool anyone.

"I know that, dear." She put an arm around the child's shoulders and guided her across the villa, heading if Antonia wasn't mistaken, for her rooms. "Thank you, sister, but I should like to speak to her in private."

* * *

 

Antonia didn't dare to turn in Octavia's direction, that would only show weakness.

They entered the room, and Livia sat her on the bed. Antonia watched as Livia walked to her desk and took a comb, returning to sit behind the girl and try to untangle her mass of hair.

Antonia didn't say anything, even when she felt like half her hair was pulled from her skull.

"I apologize; there is a big knot here."

She didn't say anything. Octavia was much better at brushing her hair, but the pulling and yanking her reminded the girl of her mother. She swallowed her tears.

"Why are you here?"

"To be your friend."

"Why? My father tried to kill your husband."

"If only he had succeeded."

"He would've killed _you,_ and your child." Antonia lied. Her father hadn't been as heartless as Octavian the Prick, who had killed one of her half-brothers in Alexandria apparently. She had also noticed that not all of Cleopatra's children had arrived in Rome, but nobody ever spoke of it.

"Maybe." She answered, unperturbed. "But I would've died after he did, and that is more than enough."

She turned to her, the comb hanging from her hair, and truly looked at the woman in front of her. Her face was open, unapologetic and unafraid.

"You hate him."

"I do. He forced me to divorce my husband while carrying a child in my belly so he could marry me."

Antonia rose her eyebrow.

"So did my father and Octavia."

"Octavia's husband was dead when she was married to him, and I've heard he treated her kindly."

"He left her alone in her villa while he lived with my mother."

Livia shrugged.

"Seems like a lovely arrangement to me. And Octavia has admitted to holding certain affections for your parents."

Antonia supposed that was true, but if she had to guess, she'd say she held more affections for Lysandra than Antony. Her mother had been her friend, they had shared a silent understanding despite their differences, and Antonia knew she reminded Octavia of her mother, if the way she sometimes looked at her like she had seen a ghost when she said something clever was anything to go by.

"Well, you're right. She and my mother were friends even."

Livia showed some surprise.

"Truly? I never heard of a wife becoming the friend of her husband's mistress, although it does explain her favouritism of you."

Her? Octavia's favourite? She doubted it, but let the more powerful woman have it.

"They were lonely." She said quietly, and behind her Livia hummed, getting the brush out of her hair. The girl  hissed.

"I met your mother once, you know."

Antonia turned slowly.

"Truly?"

Livia nodded, putting the comb down and smiling softly. 

"Yes, shortly before Caesar's death, she and your father attended a party I was at. She was heavy with you already." She looked up, her gaze far away. "It was my first party, and I was excited about finally being considered a woman." A bitter laugh followed, delicate and resounding. "I had heard of Rome's greatest courtesan, and even saw your mother once before, again with your father, but from a distance in the dark of the night. I finally spoke to her at the party. She was so pretty, even all big because of you."she gave Antonia’s nose a small, affectionate pinch that was off putting, but she ignored it, always eager to hear more of her mother. "We spoke for a bit, at one of the few moments in which your father left her side. He was very attentive, you know, looking for every small sign of discomfort. It took some courage to approach her,  but she was tremendously nice, and invited me to sit next to her, in the place your father had just left. I tried to impress her, and I think I succeeded. I made her laugh, and when my mother called me and I stood to leave, she gave me this." Livia bent her head so Antonia could see the small pin nested into the braid that ran across her crown. It had been placed strategically, so it was easy to miss. Women in Rome shouldn't be too extravagant those days. Livia looked up again. "She took it from her head and put it in mine, and told me I was a force to be reckoned with."

Antonia wanted to believe her, she did. And she knew those pins, because she remembered her mother keeping them in a box, mostly forgotten.

"She liked defying women." Antonia admitted. "You probably said something that would challenge some tradition."

Livia didn't answer, instead, she extended a hand and placed Antonia's hair behind her shoulders.

"So, you're breaking hearts? It's not a surprise."

She smiled weakly.

"I rather not talk about it."

"Of course."

* * *

“I simply don’t think it’s necessary.” Marcus shook his head, placing a hand on the table.

Octavia repeated her son’s actions.

“It’s not our place to question your uncle’s,...projects. Besides, it is only an early idea he shared with me; you’re not supposed to know about it, and even less so, speak of it.”

Antonia ceased her glaring of Alexander and Selene to give her stepbrother an intrigued glance.

“What?”

Marcella Major leaned in to speak in her ear.

“Uncle Octavian’s wants to pass a new law to punish disobedience within the city. You know, after all those fights that have broken out in the Aventine lately.”

Antonia nodded. Fights and disputes were a common thing in the city, especially in the less privileged areas. The Aventine wasn’t the worst Rome had to offer, but it was far from being the sort of place people like Octavia or her daughters would frequent.

Antonia sometimes put on some clothes she had mistreated and went out into those parts of the city, looking around at the people.

She got her first glance of that side of the city when she was much younger. She had been in her mother’s arms as she talked with some old friend, a woman about the same age as Lysandra named Livinia. The only thing Antonia remembered from the woman was her silvery hair, and how much she liked to touch it, much to her mother’s distress and Livinia’s entertainment.

She remembered a conversation about another woman, one whose name always made Lysandra look like she had sucked a lemon. Antonia didn’t remember what was said about the woman, but the next thing she knew, she and her mother were venturing in an awful, smelly place full of sad or scary people. She had hidden her face in her mother’s neck and only taken a peek to make sure the guards were still there.

She remembered being put to the ground but refusing to let go of her mother’s hand. Lysandra had knelt in front of an older woman and tried to speak to her softly. Antonia had watched the woman curiously; even then it was clear she had been beautiful once upon a time.

“Let me help you.” her mother had said, extending a hand towards the woman’s face. “We’ll go back to my villa and…”

But the woman didn’t let her finish, and instead she sat up straight and spit in her face. Antonia had gasped, and the guards tried to get their hands on the woman, but her mother ordered them to stand back and instead stood up, her eyes turning so cold the child was momentarily scared.

“Don’t come looking for me later, then.” she had said, taking the child in her arms and walking away, wiping her face with her arm.

Antonia never saw that woman again, but when she asked her mother about it, she said she was someone who used to work with her.

_“Why were we there?” she had asked, whining as her mother pulled on another knot._

_She stilled her head and continued._

_“To offer her a hand, but she said no.”_

_“Why?”_

_“She never liked me.”_

_“And she worked with you?”_

_“She did.”_

_“Then why did she end up there?”_

_Lysandra had stopped her combing for a moment._

_“Most women like me end up there someday. It is where we go to die.”_

_“But not you.” she said, certain as can be. “Besides, father won’t let you end there, or die.”_

_“Of course not.” they both turned to see a tired looking Antony striding into Antonia’s room, a smile on his face. He sat down behind Lysandra and took her in his arms, kissing her cheek and her neck. “I’ll keep her with us forever.”_

She was taken out of the memory by Marcella Minor..

“And what would you do then, brother?” she asked, clearly only to humor him.

Marcus, who usually prefered to keep to himself, sat straight, looking a bit pompous.

“I would reform the criminals, instead of punishing them.”

“A punishment is a reform, I’d say.” Antonia spoke drily, moving the contents of her stew around.

“Maybe, but it is clear that physical punishment is ineffective.” he said, intertwining his fingers, his supper completely forgotten.”No, my reform would be of the mind.”

At this, everybody stared blankly at him, even the twins.

Octavia made a small gesture.

“Explain.”

“The chaos always breaks out in the least privileged side of the city, right? At least, the worst part tends to take place there. You don’t hear of the senatorial class breaking into such animalistic behaviour.”

“I beg to differ.” interrupted his mother.

“It’s not the same.”Antonia defended, absentmindedly. “It’s another world there.”

Marcus nodded in her direction.

“And what do we have that they don’t?” when nobody said anything, his face fell a little. “An education. I would see the entire city educated. Everyone would read, write and debate. It’d be mandatory for all the free people.”

 The silence persisted.

“It’s ridiculous.” Antonia Major apported.

Antonia tilted her head.

“You would arm the people?” she asked.

“Arm? Hardly?” Selene snorted, not looking up. “The plebs can’t kill you with a pen.”

“Shall we test that?” Antonia asked, and turned back to Marcus before Octavia could apprehend her. “You’d make them aware by doing that.”

Marcus nodded, happy that someone finally saw his point.

“Aware? Of what?” Marcella Major breathed with a laugh.

Antonia took the measure of her stepbrother, as if seeing him again after a long time.

“Everything.”

* * *

Curious. Very curious.

Antonia pondered in silence, her index finger tapping lightly on her cup.

She had stayed by the same corner for most of the night, wanting to be as far away from Octavian as possible. Lucius was playing around with the other two Antonias and Marcella Minor, and the wretched twins were in their rooms. No doubt Octavian wanted to flaunt in front of them, but Octavia wanted to spare them the suffering, so she told her brother that they were undisposed.

Sitting around a set of small tables, Marcus spoke with his uncle.

“You probably left a mark.”

Caught off guard she looked to her left, and found Agrippa staring at her, mild amusement shining in his eyes.

“General?”

“On the floor you’re standing in. You’ve remained here for most of the evening.”

She smiled lightly, wanting to erase that expression off his face with a good slash of a sword.

“You noticed.”

“Of course I did. It’s a bit difficult not to notice you.” he said, almost matter of factly, trying to maintain his eyes from ranking her body.

She was wearing red that day, a colour that had given her mother strength and power in the past, along with the armlet her father had sent her. It had to be adjusted (since it was too big for her thin arm) but it looked beautiful.

She turned to him.

“Is it because of who I’m the daughter of?”

“No, well in part, yes.” he smiled in what he must’ve thought was a charming way, and it would’ve been, if she didn’t dislike him so. “But mostly due to your beauty. It is hard to not see you.”

“Uh. Truly?”

“Truly.”

“People say I get my looks from my mother.”

“I heard the same, though I never met the woman.”

“Finally. Someone who hasn’t.” she was starting to get tired of people claiming to have known Lysandra, especially when they either only knew she had been a beauty, or because they had taken her to their beds before Antony decided he wanted her for himself. Nobody in Rome had known her mother, expect Antonia herself, and probably Octavia.

“Yes, I hear she was rather,..ah, famous, back in the day.”

“An overestimated whore, you mean?” she gave him a sideways glance. “Don’t worry, general. It’s what everyone says.”

“Not after what you did to a girl’s face, apparently.”

They looked at each other, and Antonia allowed herself to share a small laugh with him. She took a sip from her drink, watching as Marcella Major tried to impress Livia with something.

“But she was your mother. Noone should disrespect her like that.”

She saw his kind, dark eyes, and locked herself up.

“Most people won’t agree.”

“I am not most people.”

“Your owner won’t either.”

“Octavian isn’t my owner?”

“How did you know I spoke of him, then?”

She tilted her head as she drank from her cup of wine, and Agrippa cleared his throat.

“If you’ll excuse me, general, I believe my sister calls for me.” she said, pointing at Antonia Major.

When she walked past him to get to the other Antonia, she felt him shift, their shoulders brushing slightly.

Very curious, indeed.

* * *

When Antonia walked into the atrium, she had to pause for a moment and stare in disbelief as Octavia laughed at something Cassius was saying.

Why? Why was that plague there? Couldn't he leave her alone? She saw him everywhere as it was, there was no need to have him there in person as well.

She cleared her throat, and the both of them turned to her. Cassius's eyes lit up, but Antonia focused on her guardian.

"Come, come." She was beckoned forward with a wave of her hand. "Cassius was telling me of your poetry sessions."

She did look at Cassius then, eyes narrowed. Poetry lessons they called it now, uh? She should be thankful, after all, Octavia wouldn't like to know she was learning to fight. It'd be too unlady like, but most importantly too dangerous if the wrong person found out.

But Cassius was looking at her, with his stupid, soft puppy eyes and that foolish smile of boy in love on his face, so she scowled and turned to Octavia.

"He's teaching me to fight."

Octavia's eyes widened in horror and she reckoned back, out of breath.

"What?"

"Wooden gladius, bruises, it's all a very violent ordeal; and he's teaching me."

Cassius gave her a light look of reproach, and she returned a blank one in exchange.

"W-w-why?!"

"Why not?" Antonia shrugged. "Why are you here?"

Cassius stood straight, clasping his hands together in front of him. 

"You haven't shown up in a few weeks, so I grew worried." He gave Octavia his best apologetic smile, but it fell flat, for the woman only glared in return. "I realize this is hardly appropriate, but my intentions are sincere: I wished only to see for myself that Antonia was alright."

Her guardian had her hands balled into fists, and she was starting to shake.

Antonia looked at Cassius, pensive.  Worried? Him? Worried about her?

He looked at her again, searching for refuge from her guardian's blazing eyes, his own open and expectant.

Expectant of what? Was he hoping for her to take his hand and march out to do whatever depravity he wanted with her?

She bit her lower lip, not expecting to _want_ to do just that. She did want his arms around her and his lips on hers, and everywhere else.

Gods, she was a disgusting creature.

She felt a pang of guilt. He noticed her absence. He wanted to be sure nothing had happened. How many days did he walk all the way to her... _their_ secret spot? How long did he wait each day.

She pictured him there, waiting all day underneath a tree, sitting on the cold earth, the colder winds hitting his face, and she felt slightly sick.

Gods, she was the most disgusting creature.

Octavia raised a finger, and spoke before Antonia could come up with an answer to save  them both.

"You, out of here, and don't come back." She said through gritted teeth.

Antonia took in a sharp breath and stepped forward, willing to intervene, but the blazing eyes of her guardian made her stop dead in her tracks.

Cassius opened his mouth as if to speak, but then nodded briefly, and without looking at her, he walked out in a haste.

Antonia bit her lip, both fighting the urge to go after him and apologize and bracing herself for what was to come.

“What were you thinking? Uh?” Octavia approached her in a few short strides, looking up at her as if talking to a foolish child. “Do you have any idea how dangerous your little game is? If someone were to tell my brother...First your little scene with Livia, and the twins…”

“I haven’t killed them. I don’t even talk to the spawns.” she said, her voice blank.

“They’re your siblings, Antonia!” Octavia half yelled, half whispered.

She rounded on her guardian then, matching her anger.

“They. Are. Not.” she pointed to the place she had come from, a short corridor that gave way to the sleeping chambers. “The Marcellas are my siblings, and Marcus, and the Antonias. Lucius is my brother, but those two are nothing to me.” she was shaking from head to toe. She hated them. “They’re lucky I respect you enough to ignore them, otherwise I would’ve strangled them in their sleep long ago.”

They both stopped, equally taken aback by her statement.

Antonia recoiled, slightly scared of herself. Had she really just said that? The twins weren’t the first people she wished dead (Octavian and Agrippa were the first ones on her list), but something felt different about the egyptian prince and princess.

Maybe it was because, like it or not, they were a part of her father, and she was desperately clinging to any remains of him, but having to do so from the children who caused Lysandra such despair so long ago was bitter. 

She did want them dead. Just like their wretched mother, and in exchange she wanted her parents back, or even one of them. One would suffice.

“Take that back, Antonia.” Octavia had tears in her eyes, and she looked fearful and disgusted. Also sad, and even disappointed.

Antonia didn’t like being the one causing such things on Octavia. Octavia who loved her mother, who loved her and raised her amongst her children as if she were one more of the lot, and not the illegitimate child of her adulterous husband.

She almost apologized, but then an image came to mind, of Lysandra listening to some rumors about Antony and Cleopatra, and the disturbingly plain expression on her face.

Antonia swallowed. Her mother was dead, and there was nothing she could do.

Yet she remembered the sobbing that followed for days, and the despair of not receiving correspondence from Antony. Diona, her mother’s favourite slave, had panicked, not knowing what to do, and so had Antonia, who grew scared and started crying when, in between hiccups and tears, her mother complained about her chest hurting.

Her mother had died long before the poison, and it was all by the hand of a woman she never met and those twins.

It was easier to hate them than to hate her father, who had loved Antonia dearly. Antony had spoiled her, and there was a small part of her that still tried to idolize the bond her parents had had, before and after Cleopatra.

It was easier to hold on to the hate than letting it go.

“No.”

Slowly, Octavia raised both hands.

“Antonia,...go to your room and stay the...Antonia!”

She spun on her heels and hurried out into the streets, tears blurring her vision.

Gods, she had ruined everything. The twins did.

Octavian had probably killed the other children of Cleopatra, why not those two? He was truly an idiot; her father was right about him.

She felt embarrassed for everything she was doing to poor Octavia. She didn’t mean to hurt her; she was the only person the girl knew she could trust, but she was hurting so much.

She ran down the Palatine Hill, ignoring everyone as she went, just wanting to get away, before anybody else got hurt.

What if Lucius was next? What if it was all her fault? All of it. Her mother, and her father, and Cassius and Octavia.

They were better off without her. Maybe if she had never been born, everyone would’ve been happier.

She ran like there was no tomorrow, down to the gates and out of the city, not stopping despite the burning in her legs and lungs.

She had to run.

“FUCK!”

She stopped, panting, putting her hands on her knees and crying.

Gods damn it, she had never missed her mother more than at that moment. She needed a hug, one from her; those always made it all better.

Through the tears, a laugh escaped her, and she felt a few salty drops in her mouth.

She was a truly pathetic creature. Crying for her mother’s hug at that age, throwing tantrums and running away.

She walked slowly.

Maybe she _could_ run away, never come back and make everyone’s lives easier, herself included.

Where could she go? She knew how to fight, somewhat, but she had no idea of how to fend for herself. She had had everything handed to her in a silver platter, everything her parents had not always had the luxury to enjoy. They probably knew how to survive all alone in the woods, but she didn’t.

Her only talents extended to a wooden gladius and poetry,...well...the latter she wasn’t so sure of anymore.

She took a moment to take in Cassius, who was sitting there under their tree, playing around with a dandelion. He threw it away in frustration, a frown marrying his handsome face.

“I didn’t think you’d be here.” she said, not knowing what to do with her hands for once in her life.

He stood, dusting off his toga.

“Why are you here?”

“I ah,... I wanted to be alone.”

The frown deeped even further, and he clenched both his jaw and his fists.

“I will leave you be then.”

“No!” Antonia practically screamed when he turned to go, and she approached him quickly. She didn’t want him to go, and she hated herself for it, but the idea of him gone was far worse. She could live with a little more hate. “Please don’t leave me. Everyone else does.”

He stared at her, straight into her eyes, and Antonia had to look down, unable to hold his gaze. She angrily wiped a tear, hating to look weak.

“Maybe they wouldn’t if you tried to be nicer.” he said, his voice soft but also rebuking.

Antonia winced but nodded, looking down at her fingers, now full of calluses due to her practices. Livia had her trying a paste for that, but so far it wasn’t working.

“Everyone I cared about died, and those left hate me.”

She heard him sigh, and suddenly his sandals were in her line of vision, and a warm, heavy hand rested on her shoulder.

“They don’t hate you, Antonia. Do you want to know what I think?”

He leaned back a bit, trying to catch her eyes, but she wouldn’t bulge.

“What?”

“I think you push them away, so that they won’t die.”

Antonia bit her trembling lip.

“Everyone always dies.”

“Yes, well, I think is better to die having loved, than live but be hurting.” She looked up slowly, and found herself lost on the fields that were his eyes. “Don’t make me live hurting, Antonia.”

The half Roman girl didn’t know who started the kiss, who leaned forward first, but the next thing she knew was that she was in Cassius’s arms, her lips moving against his,  her hands pulling off his toga as he rose up her dress over her head.

Antonia stood there for a second, mildly terrified. Was she really going to do it? RIght there in open field where anyone could see if they ventured a few kilometers off the road? Did she want it?

Of course she did.

Cassius stepped back to look at her, drinking her in. His gaze was dark, but somehow still warm, still loving.

Did he like what he saw? She had half a mind to put cover herself with her arms.

“You’re so beautiful.” he whispered, and she smiled.

His toga, which laid on the grass, was extended over it, and Cassius turned to her, offering her a hand. Antonia took it, her shaky legs guiding her.

Cassius laid her down gently, and he hovered above her.

Antonia looked up at him, her heart fluttering. She reached up, her hand cupping his cheek. Smiling, she put her hand on the back of his neck and drew him in for another kiss.

* * *

 

The streets were mostly empty as they walked up Palestine Hill, hand in hand.

She looked up at him and smiled briefly, blushing furiously when he returned it, his eyes mischievous, reminding her of what had taken place some mere hours prior.

The stars sparkled up in the sky, and the cold wind felt more like a pleasant breeze. She had gotten her likeness for cold weather from her mother; her father had been a lazy cat, who loved to nap under the sun and despised the winter.

They took a turn to avoid a dark alley and Cassius stopped. Antonia turned to him, her hand still in his, arms outstretched, and followed the path of his gaze to find an old woman laying on the ground, her knees pressed to her chest, trembling from head to toe.

Antonia’s heart clenched at the sight, and when Cassius took a few steps in her direction, she let him go, watching as he knelt before her. He took off his paenula and gently placed her around the woman’s shoulders, who jumped at the sudden touch, eyeing him with distrust. He took the small, leather bag that hung loosely from his hips and offered it to her.

“For something to fill your stomach.”

After a few seconds, she yanked it from her grasp abruptly, still weary, but from where she was Antonia could see Cassius smile charmingly as he stood up, dusting off his toga as he returned to her, taking her hand in his and resuming their walk.

She strolled by his side in silence, pensive. A few guards passed by them, but none tried to stop them, probably noticing the type of clothes they wore.

When they were out of earshot, she spoke.

“That was a surprisingly decent act.”

He gave her a playful look out of the corner of his eye.

“Why?”

Antonia shrugged.

“I didn’t expect you to care about the plebians, especially those in that woman’s position.”

He remained in silence for a few seconds.

“My father used to say that the plebs are a powerful force, but in a precarious position, and that it is not only or job but our duty to help them, to protect them, and I agree with him.”

Antonia nodded, biting her lip. Her own father had cared about the plebs, but very little; only enough to rally them to his side. His ultimate goal was to gain all the power Rome had to offer, and the plebs were only a small but necessary nuisance for him. The half roman frowned; she didn’t remember her mother caring much about them either. She was always gentle with her slaves, and there was that one time she tried to help a woman on the streets, someone named Xanthe, but from what little she remembered the effort had been brief, careless. What Lysandra had cared about most besides her own security was Antony and Antonia herself, and Lucius of course, when he came along. She assumed both her parents had cared for some people, like Octavia,...and maybe that had been it. No patricians, and certainly no the plebs.

“You sound like Marcus.”

“Your half-brother?”

She thought of it for a second.

“I believe he’s more of a distant cousin. His mother, my father’s ex wife, was a distant cousin of hers.”

Cassius chuckled at her expression.

“Yes, it is all very complicated.”

“It’s the roman way.”

“It is.” he swallowed. “You mentioned I sound like your cousin Marcus then. Why is that?”

“Oh, he thinks we should all be equals, in essence. He’s opposed to some of the reformations Octavian has planned, but his mother doesn’t let him speak of it outside our home, she says it’s dangerous.”

“Octavian? Not Augustus?”

She gave him a serious look.

“He doesn’t deserve it. He will always be the prick who fucked one of the Battles of Philippi. My father always said he was a worm, a cowardly worm who didn’t come up to Caesar’s ankle.” She turned to him with wide eyes. This wasn’t the first time her tongue got loose in front of Cassius, and even though there was a newfound sense of comfort, it was easy to be back on her toes. After all, she had just insulted the sole ruler of Rome. Octavian may deny it, and the Senate as well, but everyone knew. “Please, don’t tell anyone.”

He rose a hand, seeming slightly amused.

“Don’t worry.” giving her an assesing look, he smirked. “I have to say I agree with you, and your cousin as well, it would seem.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised, or maybe yes. His father had been one of the masterminds behind Caesar’s assassination, so his son being uncontent with Rome’s recent political situation was to be expected; at the same time, it shouldn’t be expected, given how it all turned out for his father.

She swallowed, wondering how Cassius didn’t hate her, how he could look at her in such a way when her own father had defeated his, provoking a suicide right after the battle.

Cassius was an orphan and it was her father’s fault, yet he looked a her the same way Antony had looked at Lysandra.

She would probably die of old age before she understood him.

They stopped a few steps from the door, where two guards stood straight, staring at front. They were wearing helmets, so their peripheral vision was obstructed, giving the young couple some privacy,

Antonia turned to Cassius, and with a deep breath, she stepped into his personal space, putting her hands on his broad shoulders and rising up to kiss him. The height difference wasn’t great, barely there, but she did have to lean up a little.

He returned the kiss eagerly, putting his hands on her waist, his thumb drawing circles over the fabric.

“If you keep this up, I will throw you over my shoulder and lock you up in my villa.”

“Like Pluto did with Proserpina? Will you let me go out to bring spring into the world?”

“I don’t think so.”

He kissed her again, making her heart flutter and her stomach warm. Suddenly, summer didn’t seem so bad. If Cassius was summer, then she’d happily have that season all year long.

She pulled  back, pulling at the fabric of her skirt, trying to get her hair around her face so he wouldn’t see the blush.

“I need to go inside. Octavia must be worried.”

Cassius accepted this, taking a step back.

“Will I see you at our spot tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

She still wanted to learn, how to fight that was.

Cassius kissed her one last time, making her giggle, but with great effort she untangled herself from him, turning and heading for the door, nodding to the guards as they opened the heavy door for her.

She barely made it to the atrium, where she found Octavia pacing in front of the Impluvium, her hair a mess, while Livia watched come and go, sitting straight, which was unusual for a roman.

Antonia made her next steps loud to alert them of her presence, and while one woman turned to her unperturbed, the other’s eyes promised crucifixion.

“Where have you been?! Do you have any idea how worried I was?! What if something happened to you, Antonia?! Uh?! Did you stop to think of it?! Do you ever think about something else besides your own, personal pain?! Your siblings are worried, poor Lucius and Antonia minor had to drink a herbal tea to fall asleep! They were crying because you were missing! Livia has half her guard looking for you, behind her husband’s back! Her husband, my brother, who need I remind you, doesn’t like you nor Lucius very much. What if the wrong people caught you?! What if something happened?!” she was hyperventilating by that point, her face red due to the lack of pause in her ranting. “What then, Antonia? What would I tell your mother?!”

The three women paused for a second.

Antonia felt guilty about worrying Octavia, but she also remembered all those times she dissapeared for hours, or even the whole day, and her guardian hadn’t seem to notice, because she was too busy with those whore’s spawns.

“You tell her nothing. She’s dead, remember?” she got into her face, her mood ruined and tears blurring her vision. “She died, and the very next day you fucked my father. I wonder what she would’ve felt knowing that...Ah!”

All of a sudden, she was looking at the wall, her face turned away from Octavia, a beating stinging on her cheek where she had been slapped.

Perhaps it was for the best. Not even Antonia herself knew where she was going with her monologue, but it was nowhere good.

She just had so much anger inside of her, and there were so many people involved in her parents dead, she just didn’t know where to point her finger at.

She turned in time to see Octavia back away in terror, staring at her hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” she kept on mumbling.

Livia stood, her expression severe as she neared Antonia and placed two cold, albeit gentle hands on her shoulders.

“Maybe it will be for the best if we cool off separately. Sleep, sister. I will take young Antonia to the baths before she retires.”

Without waiting for an answer (things Livia didn’t seem to really care about), she lead the younger woman to the baths, were a few slaves already waited, standing dutifully against the walls.

Livia waved her hand and the slaves scurried away. Antonia tried to take a few steps away from the woman.

“There’s no need for you to stay. I can handle it in my own.”

Livia merely rose an eyebrow and walked towards Antonia with purpose, pulling her dress down. She was examined from head to toe, and Livia’s eyebrows almost reached her hairline when she took a peek at her thighs.

“I imagine Octavia won’t be pleased.”

“No.”

“Don’t worry,”she smiled, walking around her and standing at the edge of the baths, extending a hand. “I won’t tell.”

“You won’t?” Antonia asked, not sure if she could believe the woman. After all, as nice as Livia had been the past weeks, visiting regularly to speak with her and showing interest in Antonia’s own interests, she was still Octavian’s wife. She might hate him, but Livia was a survivor, much like Lysandra had been, much like Antonia tried to be, and getting thrown at the wolves wasn’t something she looked forward too.

With throwing Octavian would probably be more than enough.

Livia smiled, and the smile was comforting, understanding, and her eyes shone the way only a woman’s eyes could, when one saw another taking a risk to make a stand and could do nothing more than silently offer her silence as protection.

“Of course not. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Antonia took the hand, stepping into the hot waters.

“I suppose we can be.”


End file.
